Chapter 11
Eleven
Elodie
“Oh!” Aunt Daphne says when I walk into the kitchen to grab my breakfast. “That’s an interesting change.”
I reach toward my hair with a trace of self-consciousness but catch my hand halfway there. Pulling out one of the neglected hair color boxes Other Elodie stashed under the sink was an impulse last night, but I still liked the results in the mirror this morning.
The purple dye only gave the natural mahogany strands a bit of a burgundy tint. The lighter brown highlights weave through them in a deep but vibrant violet.
The color brings out the green in my muddied eyes and the golden glow in my skin, which I’ve refused to cover even slightly with Other Elodie’s powders this morning. And it coordinates with the indigo in the school uniform. Even my doppelganger might have approved of the new look.
It’s not up to her, though. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of me. I’m going to own this life and get to the bottom of the mess she made of it, no dithering around. And then I’ll be gone.
My matches, the ones who actually care about me, are waiting back home.
Daphne laughs as if self-conscious of her own reaction and beams at me. “It looks nice. Very striking, but it suits you.”
Maybe she also likes that it’ll help stop her from thinking I’m actually the niece she remembers.
Dad has looked over from where he was adding cream to his coffee at the other end of the island and gives me a softer but warmer smile. “It does. Nothing wrong with experimenting. Sometimes it’s good to take a step out of your comfort zone.”
My heart does the pitter-patter thing that always happens when I meet Dad’s eyes. It’s going to take more than two days before I’m used to having him back from the dead.
I shouldn’t get used to it. I only have him on loan.
“That’s what I thought,” I say, and grab the mug of coffee that’s waiting for me. I gulp it down black, the way I prefer.
Daphne’s eyelid twitches, probably because she coached me this weekend on many facts including that Other Elodie loaded her coffee with cream and sugar.
No, thank you, I’m not ruining this sharp bitterness with any garbage.
Dad doesn’t blink, and his sister recovers quickly. “You know, you should wear that diamond-and-amethyst tennis bracelet we got in Monaco a few years back. It’ll coordinate so well. And it can be good to remind people what kind of a family you come from too.”
She winks as if she’s mostly kidding, but we both know that could be a smart strategy for other reasons. Flaunting the Devines’ wealth might provoke whoever wanted to whack my double.
I am looking to get answers ASAP. So after my hasty breakfast, I dash upstairs to check the jewelry cabinet in the walk-in closet.
Other Elodie owned dozens of bracelets and plenty with diamonds, but I can’t find a single one with purple stones. It isn’t in the drawers of her vanity either, where she’s left several pieces I assume she wore more frequently.
Who knows how many other places she might have stashed her collection around her set of rooms? I’ve got to get going.
I tuck my hand into my blazer’s pockets to confirm I’ve still got the little paring knife and hustle down to the waiting car.
My change in style does more than just remind myself that I’m still me and that I can handle whoever killed my doppelganger. When I amble onto the green where Other Elodie’s pack of friends have already clustered, Cadance does a double take. Mia’s eyes widen.
Madison lets out a low whistle. “You should have warned us, Elle. Friends don’t let friends find out about the new style at the same time as the rabble.”
Stella simply gives me a considering look. “You can pull it off. Why not?”
Cadance clicks her tongue. “It’s really not fair how well it works with your face. I can’t believe you keep that perfect tan forever.”
Mia giggles and pats my arm. “She’s got her Mediterranean coloring. Gotta envy it.”
I ignore the prickle of irritation at hearing my mom’s part in my genetics erased. It’s probably not even their fault—I doubt Other Elodie ever mentioned her background. She might even have outright lied.
And they’ve given me exactly the kind of opening I was hoping for.
I tilt my head to one side, all innocence. “Did I really not tell you I was at least thinking about experimenting? I feel like I mentioned it to someone recently…” I knit my brow. “Who else have I even been talking to?”
I ask the question as if to myself in an attempt to remember, but my friends can’t help taking the bait.
Mia hums with a Yorkie-like scrunching of her nose. “Are you still hanging out with Monica at all?”
The classmate we chummed up to for inside knowledge about that Chanel launch. I doubt she had anything to do with Other Elodie’s dark secrets. I shake my head.
Stella offers a wry smile. “It didn’t look like your conversation with Byron during the bloom practicum yesterday was that friendly.”
Cadance snaps her fingers. “Simone Palenti, when you were working with her in Divination?” She makes a face.
“Please tell me you wouldn’t have dished with her before us.
Or… You did seem kind of interested in Grady Tadros a little while back, asking if we knew much about him.
” Her eyebrows arch. “Did the two of you have some fun?”
Grady Tadros? My thoughtful expression becomes genuine.
I don’t remember much about the guy from my own reality.
The Tadroses are another upper-crust family that wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with Elodie Singh.
But he was noteworthy enough that I can picture him—tall, dark-haired, with a prominent Grecian nose—and his name was on the 16th year list near mine on the 15th. He’s ranked third in his class.
Why would Other Elodie have been asking her friends about him?
I can’t prod them about exactly what I said without them wondering if I’ve been possessed, so I just laugh and motion for us to walk toward the school buildings. “If I had, I’d definitely let you know. Maybe I just thought about telling you guys and forgot that I hadn’t.”
That’s one more lead to follow up on. Between the photos and the notes, I’ve got a whole new set to help me crack this puzzle wide open.
The rest of my investigating has to wait until classes are over, but my sense of purpose buoys me down the hall to combat class.
The uniform we change into for sparring keeps up the Luminary indigo-and-gold color scheme, form-fitting but designed to reduce all risk of skin-to-skin contact.
The long-sleeved leotard includes a high neck and straps around our thumbs so the sleeves won’t pull out from beneath our gloves, and the leggings feature stirrups to give the same protection to our ankles.
No unexpected match-sparking will be happening under Professor Kwong’s watch, thank Aphrodite.
I leave my silk undershirt on while I change so no one glimpses the scars Other Elodie definitely wasn’t sporting.
Living with three lovers has given me a lot of practice at hiding them.
When I got intimate with my real matches, I insisted on always keeping on some kind of shirt out of not-entirely-pretended self-consciousness. Not even they ever spotted the marks.
And it’s going to stay that way.
For once, I know what to expect from the class. Kwong grins at all of us as we emerge from the change rooms. “Wednesday free sparring! Let’s get right into it.”
Once a week, he has all the senior students face off. No rules other than you can only aim to hurt, not kill, and your opponent has to agree to the fight first—no flinging magic at someone across the room without warning.
A couple of the school nurses are always posted here on Wednesdays to patch up anyone who needs particularly urgent treatment. But by our second-last year of training, most of us are adept enough to avoid any life-threatening damage.
I pace the mats with a spring in my step, deciding who to partner with. I don’t really want to pummel any of Other Elodie’s friends while I need to stay in their good graces for information-gathering purposes.
Simone strides by. It wouldn’t look too odd for me to work with her one more time this week, would it?
But she’s making a beeline for Salvatore, who’s just swaggered out of the boys’ change room, his masses of sculpted brawn filling out that uniform way too well.
With a flex of his shoulders, he swipes his messy hair away from his eyes.
The ruddy undertones flare amid the black under the harsh training room lights.
I jerk my gaze away before he can catch me looking.
Before I’m speared through by his bright blue eyes with another tug of my heart.
“Salvatore,” Simone says in a simpering voice. “I was thinking we could—”
He brushes right past his second-or-whatever cousin. At the edge of my vision, I can see him sauntering straight toward me.
Shitting sarpas. I spin around in search of someone to quickly glom onto, but his gloved hand lands on my shoulder. “Hey, a stóirín. You’ve been upping your game lately. I want to see what you can do when there’s magic in the mix.”
I pull myself away from him and keep my tone as careless as possible. “No, thanks. Didn’t you get enough on Monday? I think I prefer fresh blood.”
“Don’t run for the hills now.” His eyes gleam with a wicked blue heat. “I bet we could make all kinds of magic. There’s no way the great Elodie Devine is scared of a fair fight, is there?”
It’s a blatantly manipulative approach—but several of our classmates have paused to watch. I doubt Other Elodie’s ego would have let her back down from a challenge that overt, manipulative or not.
If I keep refusing, are people going to start wondering why?
Why should I back down anyway? Before my matches sparked, before I lived in terror of my glim flaying everyone around me, I didn’t let myself give a shit about any of these people. Every day in the academy was a battlefield, and I took all the blows and kept going.